


Incandescent

by Nakimochiku



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you're Aaron Burr, you're descended from two of the most powerful magical families on the east coast.” he hands the clipboard to Aaron, a pen rolling slightly on top. He looks at it dubiously at it and lifts a single brow in question. “I'm starting a petition to the school for the inclusion of sans-magia populations--”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Or, Alex is determined to drag Aaron into a long drawn out war for magical human rights, Aaron would rather keep his nose out of all of it, and revolution is pretty much inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incandescent

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to my roommate Halle who is literally awful at naming things (she wanted to call it Witches of Hamilton). To Svetla and Mando and Jay because they all helped birth this, and listened to me whine for the past several months. and will hear me whine for another few months. bless them.

When Alex hears about Aaron Burr, his name whispered with muted awe in lecture halls and cafeterias, the successor to the Edwards and the Burr schools of magic in divination and spirit calling, Alex sort of expects to see a god. Anyone Angelica likes enough to keep around must be some kind of god.

Truth be told, Aaron Burr is a bit too short to be a god. He sits at a table in the library over his tarot cards, looking soft and approachable in a burgundy coloured jumper, even as his brow furrows in concentration.

Alex peers over his shoulder at the cards he’s drawn, the fool, the wheel of fortune, temperance, the five of wands, the ace of swords. “Is that your fortune, or someone else's?”

To his credit, Aaron Burr doesn't start. He blinks brown eyes at him with a slight frown and looks him up and down. Alex knows what he looks like, all second hand clothes from a nearby goodwill, the slightly underfed jittery look of the impoverished that manifests like famine in his eyes, messy black hair falling out of its bun to wisp around his face so he looks just a little manic. Aaron’s gaze remains cool and neutral, so that his entire demeanor reminds Alex of water, the edges of his carefully controlled aura rippling like waves on a lake. “To be honest, I'm not sure,” he says, and looks back at his tarot cards, reading them again. He fingers the wheel of fortune card, then turns to him fully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah, right. I’m Alexander Hamilton.” Aaron blinks in vague recognition, like he's heard the name but he can't remember when or from who. Alex pulls out a clip board, pages rustling loudly in the near silence around them. “So you're Aaron Burr, you're descended from two of the most powerful magical families on the east coast.” he hands the clipboard to Aaron, a pen rolling slightly on top. He looks at it dubiously at it and lifts a single brow in question. “I'm starting a petition to the school for the inclusion of sans-magia populations--”

“No.”

A thousand thoughts cross Alex’s mind before he opens his mouth to say them, but all that comes out is a wordless affronted noise. “Why not?” He can't help that his voice pitches higher, and several other students shoot him poisonous glares. “Statistics already show an increasing number of sans-magia populations with fewer academic opportunities due to discrimination--”

Aaron Burr glances around at the displeased faces, and sighs. “Shouldn't you at least buy me a drink before you start spouting social politics?”

“I'd buy you a drink if you hadn't shot me down in the first sentence.” Alex crosses his arms. “Hear me out! You have a moral obligation as an influential member of the student body-”

“Is this really the place?”

“Every place is the perfect place to discuss injustice. Did you know that by 2006, more than half the sans population reported discrimination in every aspect of daily life, including education, the service industry and healthcare--”

“Yes, okay, shhh--”

“Justice will not be silenced!”

There is a librarian approaching, but Alex doesn’t give a damn, he’s been kicked out of the library more times than he can count. Aaron however hurriedly gathers up his tarot cards, shoving them in his oxford satchel. “It’s fine, It's fine, let’s just go, I'll buy you a drink or something.”

It’s warm outside for an October afternoon, but to Alex it’s still completely freezing. Aaron drapes a scarf around his neck elegantly and gestures ahead of himself like a  gentleman. “So as I was saying,” Alex continues, gesturing with his hands, “it’s been statistically proven that sans magia populations have been increasingly discriminated against despite their emancipation in 1845, which is to say nothing about the ethnic stratification of magic, so let me ask you this, why do we base societal norms on an archaic and eurocentric system of hierarchy in the modern world?”

Aaron shrugs, and Alex huffs. Old blood witches never seem to understand.

Aaron leads them to a cozy on campus cafe and holds the door open for him. Alex looks around, but Aaron already seems to know where he's going. He flops into a comfy armchair by a window and gestures to the one across from him. The sunlight slants in, lighting him with a subtle halo as he smiles serenely. Alex follows, tosses his backpack in the chair first and settles in. “You have to admit there’s something wrong with this system.”

“Are you Sans?” There’s a plant on the window sill. Aaron runs one gentle finger over a tiny bud, beneath his touch it unfurls and grows a darker green. Alex watches, but it doesn’t really seem like Aaron is doing it to impress him, idly urging the plant to blossom.

“No,” Alex grumbles, fingers twisting in his sleeves.

“And your magical capabilities?”

“I can perform all seven wonders if that’s what you’re talking about.” Alex tips his chin up proudly, daring Aaron to challenge him.

If Aaron is surprised by that, as almost everyone seems to be, he doesn’t show it. He turns placid brown eyes on Alex, neither appraising nor disbelieving. It’s a relief. “Then what do you care about the sans magia and low caste magia populations?”

Alex scowls. “Why wouldn't I?” He sits forward in his seat, their knees brush. Aaron glances at the touch but doesn’t move away. “Entire populations of people are kept from practicing their ethnic styles of magic, entire cultures are dying out because of the eurocentrism of magic. It affects me. It affects you.” Aaron seems unmoved, and if anything it lights a fire in Alex’s belly that the cool ripple of Aaron’s aura can’t calm. “How do you not get it? Do you know how many conflicts are based on magic stratification? Never mind the subhuman ways Sans magia are treated every day.”

“But why do you care?” Aaron repeats.

“The question here is why don’t you?” Alex can feel his hair standing on end with static, but he holds himself steady. Aaron is barely affected. Alex gestures at the clipboard in Aaron’s hand. “I need you to sign that. You’re old blood and influential. Having your name on this petition would really help it gain credibility.”

Aaron leans forward, adjusts his scarf and hands the clipboard back to Alex unsigned. “You seem like the kind of person with big ideals, Alexander Hamilton.” His voice curls his name strangely, smokey even. Something Alex can’t put a name to settles at the back of his tongue and tightens his throat. He wants to bottle the way he speaks.

Alex frowns. “Yeah I’d say so.” He shoves the clipboard back into his bag. “Probably gonna go into politics or something, when I’m done school.”

Aaron nods sagely as though this is all a foregone conclusion. “You’ll find it's easier to get what you want through bigger venues when no one is opposing you because you've told them what you stand for.” He stands, and drapes his satchel over his shoulder, and smiles. “Good luck with your petition.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Alex demands when Aaron starts to move away.

“I heard you out, I want no part in it,” he says primly, chin tipped up haughtily. “My answer's still no.”

“Why? This is as good a cause as any to get involved in,” Alex warns.

“I’m sure you can fight this battle on your own, Alexander.” He winks.

That doesn't make Alex blush. Other people never make him blush, he’s always the charming one. “You didn't even treat me to a drink like you promised.” he reminds teasingly.

Aaron laughs that same smoky laugh and gives a one shouldered shrug. A small creature pokes its nose out of his bag and scampers up the strap to his shoulder so suddenly Alex starts at the side of it, before he realizes it's a familiar. “Next time then.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Alex calls after him.

*

It bothers him that he didn't say yes. It shouldn't bother him. He’d make a good ally in Alex’s fight but other than that what does he know about Aaron Burr, really? He has a familiar, a small, sleek black weasel that rests on his shoulder (a colossal waste of magic, an archaic status symbol. Who needs familiars when people can text?), he has a watch that probably cost about as much as Alex’s rent, he has a smokey laugh and a nice smile, calm and placid and as meaningless as a noh mask, so that the curve of it looks like a knife's edge. He’s handsome. No one Alex talked to mentioned that he would be handsome. Alex doesn’t know why he’s thrown off by that.

Alex finds out a couple of things about Aaron Burr. His family is old blood on both sides, that much he knew. There are whole books in the library written by generation after generation of Burr or Edwards witches, each more innovative than the last.

Aaron Burr wrote a small treatise on plant magic when he was still in high school at the time. By comparison to a legacy of experimental witchcraft, it's unbelievably simple, elementary even. A waste of his talent and his name. Or so says the scathing review of it Alex found in a magical academic journal. Alex finds it insightful however, concise, well worded. Actually, he’s probably going to reference it on one of his term papers. The only problem with it that he can see is that plant magic is low caste. He keeps the little treatise on his small book shelf anyway, among his textbooks and piles of paper.

“So, did you manage to get the great Aaron Burr’s signature?” Herc asks, peeling the label off his beer.

“No,” Alex sighs, rolling to his stomach on his bed, kicking his feet idly in the air. “He wouldn’t go for it.”

John shrugs. “I told you it wouldn’t work. I've known him since we were in boarding school together. You've never seen a better walking stereotype of a loner nerd who keeps his head down to avoid getting shoved in his locker.” Alex frowns. Everything about Aaron had seem collected, confident. He stood and he smiled like he knew himself, and everyone should be impressed by that fact alone. Alex snorts. A typical Old Blood Witch. He can't picture Aaron Burr getting shoved in his locker.

“What do we need him for anyway?” Laf makes himself comfortable spinning around and around in Alex’s desk chair. “Shouldn’t my name be enough?”

“You're french, Laf, and even though you're old blood, anyone who's taken a history course knows the french don't look at magic the same. We need…” Something flashes in Alex’s mind, something Aaron said. “We need bigger venues.”

“Man, what?” Herc replies incredulously. He’s finished peeling his label, and he wads little pieces to lob them at John where they get stuck in his curls. “Start speaking english.”

“Think about it.” Alex drags his laptop towards himself on the bed and pulls up a new page. “Just a petition won't do enough. We need a united voice. It's all fine and good to say we want to include sans magia students, but how do we intend to make that a reality?” he starts typing,and his friends peer over his shoulder as he does, fingers moving like lightning.

“The sans magia student rights association?” Laf reads, voice tilting upwards with confusion. “but clubs need school approval to be started.”

“And we all know how that argument will go,” Herc grumbles.

“Only if they are school clubs. And besides, think about the good we could do. Our petition would be stronger with a full committee behind it.”

John hums, resting his chin on his knees. “It'd be easier to get petition signers with relevant people gathered in one place.” Alex nods eagerly as his friends start to grasp his plan.

“Alex, you and I could ask professor Washington for support with the school.” Laf indicates them both with a waving hand, brows furrowed. “His wife is sans, and he adores you.”

“Don't sell yourself short, he loves you too.” Alex laughs, to which Laf bashfully shrugs.

“I wish Washington adored me,” Herc grumbles, “then maybe he'd mark my papers easier.”

“He’s not a hard marker,” Alex retorts. “Your papers are just shit.” He flops to the mattress with a wheezing laugh when Herc shoves him. He doesn't think this is what Aaron Burr meant when he said bigger venue.

*

“So we’re looking for...?” Alex prompts, gazing around the craft store and swinging his own shopping bag idly back and forth.

“Beads,” Herc reminds, pausing at a display of sketch books and running his fingers to test the texture of the paper. “A fuck ton of beads for my final project. I’m thinking of something inspired by a sari.”

“Lemme guess.” Alex grins. “Laf’s gonna be your model again?”

Herc shrugs. “S’not my fault he has the perfect dimensions.” They wander deeper into the store, passing walls of crochet hooks, yarn, knitting patterns. The beads are at the back, organized by colour and size. Alex feels a bit like a magpie looking at all of them, running his fingers over plastic cases of hot pink beads.

“Aren’t you working on your final project a bit early?” Alex takes down the boxes Herc gestures at and dumping them in the basket over his arm. “We aren’t even in midterm season yet.”

Herc shrugs expressively, considering a box of beads. “If I don’t start now, I can’t keep up. It’s a massive workload when you have to do everything manually, instead of magically.” he hangs the beads back up and counts the ones he already has quickly. “They don’t make accommodations for me.”

“They’re assholes,” Alex grumbles.

Herc grins, wraps an arm around Alex and steers him towards the cashier. His arm is big and warm and welcome in the autumn chill that permeates the store. “Don’t worry about it too much. They haven’t got me down yet. And besides, you’re determined to change everything, right?”

“Right.”

*

Aaron Burr is at one of the many bulletin boards, pinning posters for the women’s centre bake sale. He’s dressed as smartly as before, a crisp black peacoat and deep purple scarf tossed carelessly over his shoulders, meticulous in his movements. Alex watches him a moment before he sidles up to him and starts to pin his own, overlarge posters, charming them so it straightens itself and the stapler tacks it up.

“Isn't working for women’s rights too much of a stance for you?” Alex can't help but dig.

Aaron frowns, and takes a step back from the board. He takes the jab in stride though. “I only volunteer when I can. I'm more of a behind the scenes stagehand than an actual actor there.”

“But that's still working and supporting an organization built for the increased security of women in a school environment. Anyone would take that to mean you're a feminist,” Alex challenges.

“Anyone with two good brain cells to rub together is a feminist.” Aaron brushes off. Alex snorts a laugh. “It's not a stance, it’s common sense.”

“That's not true. The entire Republican party spouts tenets of misogyny frequently and have been the biggest political hinderance to the advancement of women’s rights within the law. Arguably though, they don't have two good brains cells.” Alex leans against the cork board, eyebrow raised in challenge. They are close together, Alex thinks he can feel the heat of him on his skin despite the layers of clothing; Aaron barely seems to notice. He steps into Alex’s space, and for one dizzy second he thinks, how dare-- before his eyes are drawn to his hand on his hip and the implication of challenge.

Aaron rolls his eyes. “The republican party values tradition.” He doesn't sound like he believes it; it's an argument, not his argument, and between the two of them it makes all the difference. Alex can't put his finger on why, which bothers him more than anything else.

“Tradition built off years of intolerance for anyone outside a select socio economic ethnic class.” Alex snaps. “Add sex to that equation and--”

“Um, excuse me?” A girl with a stack of her own posters gestures at the space between them helplessly. They both immediately part, Aaron with murmured apologies, and watch her pin her poster and depart, eyes snapping to each other at the same time.

“It's been lovely talking to you, Alexander,” Aaron says in a tone of voice that implies it has not been lovely at all, coloured with an altogether familiar exasperation.

“Wait!” Alex calls before Aaron can turn away. He holds up the poster. It's a riot of colours, designed by Herc. Aaron's eyes scan over it and snap up to his. “We’re having a meeting tomorrow night at that pub off campus. We’ve got a few really good speaking points set up. Everyone's welcome, even old blood and high caste witches.” he smiles. Aaron watches him carefully.

“You started a club,” is all he says, voice once again carefully neutral.

“Well yeah, I got the idea from you. You told me to take on bigger venues.”

“This isn't what I meant.” Aaron sighs, rubbing his hand back over his head. “And don't tell anyone that.”

“What, that I got the idea for the SMSRA from you?” Alex tips his head, and Aaron frowns at the floor, busily adjusting the neon pink posters in his arms, not looking at Alex at all. “We meet every Thursday. I hope to see you there.”

“That will most definitely not happen,” Aaron replies easily. “Bye, Alexander.”

“But what about that drink you still owe me?”

“Bye, Alexander.”

Never say never, Alex thinks, and marches in the opposite direction of Aaron’s retreating back.


End file.
